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User blog:Brady26/Sunbeam
Tripp stepped forward, his feet making small adjustments as he adopted an unfamiliar stance. His left hand rose up in a slow deliberate motion, palm splayed open as if awaiting the other to unite together in prayer, but his right hand remained partially raised before him, the dark wood of the wand found beneath the sunken city of Shi-Meer-Jan clutched in his fingers, delicately weaving a simple exercise pattern learned a decade ago to protect oneself from the powers of one's own evocation magicks. Closing his eyes, he began to mumble, the strange words of devotion and faith coming unnaturally to him, his mind filling with ideas of warmth, hope and lands undiscovered to be explored. Ideas that Pelor, Lord of the Hateful Sun, would find most appealing. Tripp just hoped he could attract a fragment of that solar power for just an instant with his words, a mimicry of the same plea for aid the Lord Commander of the Hallowed Assault invoked to banish darkness and cast light upon the shadowy places of the world. Tripp had watched this act, he had foreseen it in the cards, and despite the blinding radiance it created, he knew that if he stared into it's power he could gleam how it was done. A mote of light began to shine from his outward palm, gently he pushed it out before him, strands of light wisping from his wand to encircle the weak sun. When the Lord Commander calls forth such light he strikes his shield, and in a flash an imitation of the Sun God's power is drawn forth. Tripp too used such motions in his spell, his palm turned into a fist as he struck his chest six times, each blow causing the fragment of light to flare, like a bellows coaxing an ember into a flame. At each strike more tendrils of white wispy smoke spread from his wand around the light, breaking into rings that enveloped the growing blossom of power, forming into an armillary of chains that twisted and turned around the light, casting strange shadows around the halfling that seemed to both reach out towards and shrink away from him, at both times desperate to be near the flame he conjured whilst fearing it's burning touch. When asked for by the unfaithful such a light is a meager thing, but Tripp was done asking. His face twisted into one of pure hatred, allowing the intoxicating emotion to overwhelm his thoughts, to fill him with the raw feelings and quench the ideas of hope he'd used to draw out the power of the sun in the first place. Filling his mind were the wrongs done to him, the insults, the slights, the petty things that a civilised person would see as nothing in the grand scheme of things, but these were just appetisers, as his memory unleashed itself upon the spell. Those connected to his mind through the empathic link felt the hate, the feeling manifesting as a ball of tension in the chest, threatening to burst out in a flurry of rage and retribution against all around them. He no longer followed the prescribed lines of the prayer, instead his voice spoke the ancient language of magic, his words doing more to trap the mote of light then the chains encircling it. Spinning ever faster, the chains begain to glow with the same light as the fragment, it's power filling them up as they pushed aside the darkness around him, creating an aura of divine light entrapped in an arcane facsimile. The final words of the spell required a mental focus for it's power to be released, a memory of something that the halfling hated above all else. Those concerned about what was happening within the empathic link tried to commune with him, but they only heard the looping mantra of the College of Telinor, it's words blocking any lesser attempts to intrude on his thoughts. With a final flourish of his wand, the wisping smoke ceased and the mote hung suspended, the chains surrounding it spinning ever faster, allowing one to only catch a glimpse of the true power inside. "You weren't there," Tripp whispered, "you don't get to decide." At these words the chains abruptly stopped, creating a disk around the light, now flickering and dancing as if seeking to free itself from it's confinement and seeing the opportunity as it's jailer revealed themselves. Without hesitation, Tripp plunged his hand once held in prayer into the centre of the chains, wrapping his fingers around the mote and squeezing hard. At once the chains reacted, leaping towards the intruder and writhing up his arm like snakes, coiling around his limb darting around his shoulder and twisting their way down his other arm towards the wand that had brought them forth. With a sizzling chink, the chains tightened, seeming to brand the exposed flesh they touched, digging into it as they restrained themselves around the halfling wizard's upper body. The mote was gone. It had been absorbed by the magic of the spell and now it's light shone from the chains that now confined Tripp. His face still braced in the snarl he'd adopted to cast the spell, he opened his eyes and a beam of white light streamed forth from the sockets, banishing the last lingering shadows clinging to life around him. With effort, as the chains weighed him down, he raised his wand arm, the chains wrapping around the dark wooden spell focus as well, preventing him from dropping it should he even want to. As his eyes fell upon his target, this so called lord of this domain of rubble and ruins, the follower of this dead faith dredged up to beg for power from beings that see mortalkind as board pieces in their games. Tripp was done being a piece to move across a game board, he was the master of his fate, not them. And with that final thought, the bedrock upon we he built his identity, he allowed the wall of hatred to break. Quietly, almost drowned out completely by the oppressive cacophony released from his wand, he repeated the final line of the spell as he released its swirling torrent of sunlight upon his enemy. "You don't get to decide." Category:Blog posts